A Complex
by itakethewords
Summary: Unfortunately, her passion for creation was overwhelming her. The knowledge that creating and becoming just from a single thought, an idea, blurs her sight.   And he can see clearly that she needed help.


_**Author's Note:** I hope you all enjoy. This is the first of what I hope to be many __Inception__ fics. Each one I write, they'll just get better. So, without anymore fuss...

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Pure creation._

It called to her like the sweetest liquors called to an alcoholic, like the next hit lures a junkie.

Once she knew the possibilities, knew what she could be capable of, there was no turning back. To go from dreamscaping to 2D blueprints and bland cardboard and clay models seemed like blasphemy. A waste of talent and time.

The ability to create an entire city in moments, to change the very shape of the world itself was something that she now constantly craved. She would stare at the buildings around her as she did her day to day tasks and will them to turn at 90-degree angles and for skyscrapers to pierce through the ground and reach high into the blue ceiling above them all.

She spends her time making the same kinds of models she did when she was working with Yusuf and Eames. New worlds that draw her in, take up her time. The idea of creation takes up her whole being. She vaguely realizes she's developed a type of god complex, but instead of stopping her, it fuels her further.

She really was like god, in a way. As long as she had the drive and the vision, she could make it happen. In dreams.

Arthur watched her from time to time, when they met up for drinks or to catch up.

He watched the invisible wheels in her head crank and her hands move as she spoke. Sometimes her hands matched what she'd be talking about. Others, it was like they were trying to mold their own constructs from thin air, interpreting what was blooming in her mind.

He knew, believed that she really was a brilliant woman. She took to tasks quickly, was strong and passionate.

But unfortunately, her passion for creation was overwhelming her. The knowledge that creating and becoming just from a single thought, an idea, blurs her sight.

And he can see clearly that she needed help. He wasn't an architect like her or Cobb, but as he knew the addictive nature of dreams, he thought he could help.

When he voiced his thoughts to her, she became silent. He swore he even heard the wheels and cranks in her head grind to a halt. She asked him to elaborate and when he did, in the most delicate way he knew how, a look of calculated disbelief grew on her face. As he knew it would.

"I-I don't know what you mean." She turned her head away at watched the patrons of the dimly-lit bar.

Her mind, always in creation mode, set to ways to prove him wrong. But she knew he knew.

The feeling of helplessness outside of dreams. The uncertain safety within the dreams that was like adrenaline.

"Ariadne..."

Swiftly looking to him, she asks "Is this how it was, is, for you?" in desperation.

Already he hears her mind going back into overdrive, dreaming up scenarios and worlds suspended around him.

"Being Point is different than being the Architect. You have to have the _drive_ to create and inspire. You have it in reality and when you take it into the dream, you don't have any restrictions or guidelines." He took her hand to keep her attention. "My job is all about guidelines and the finer points. I don't have any room to lose control."

For a moment, she relishes the warmth from his hand before pulling away.

She already feels disconnected from the same people who were supposed to empathize with her. Only Cobb would know how she felt and he couldn't do anything. And as if he could feel her burrowing herself away, he put a challenge out to her.

"Let me help you. We can find a way to beat the god complex that's warped your mind. We can construct a prison for this problem."

Immediately her mind clicks into place. She could see the labyrinth take root and blossom. Walls and stoppers sprung up and for the first time in weeks, a small smile is on her lips.

He says her name again, sounding more sure as he sees her lips curve upward.

The whirling gears in her mind slow down, the constant sprouting towers and cathedrals and landscapes stop to a crawl. The incessant tick to grow, create, manipulate is at a purr instead of a deafening roar.

She can breathe, for the moment.

"Please...Help me?"

He nods, his own impassive face taking on a comforting warmth. A relief exudes from him.

"What are you thinking?"

She stands, holds out her hand. "Mazes. And paradoxes. Can we walk?"

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_**Thanks for reading! **_


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